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Poems List

The basis of optimism is

The basis of optimism is sheer terror.
👁️ 93

All that I desire to

All that I desire to point out is the general principle that Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life.
👁️ 115

True friends stab you in

True friends stab you in the front.
👁️ 95

Men always want to be

Men always want to be a woman's first love - women like to be a man's last romance.
👁️ 83

Nothing can cure the soul

Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul.
👁️ 69

Experience is one thing you

Experience is one thing you can't get for nothing.
👁️ 91

Some cause happiness wherever they

Some cause happiness wherever they go others whenever they go.
👁️ 75

Urbs Sacra Æterna

Urbs Sacra Æterna
ROME! what a scroll of History thine has been
In the first days thy sword republican
Ruled the whole world for many an age's span:
Then of thy peoples thou wert crownèd Queen,
Till in thy streets the bearded Goth was seen;
And now upon thy walls the breezes fan
(Ah, city crowned by God, discrowned by man!)
The hated flag of red and white and green.
When was thy glory! when in search for power
Thine eagles flew to greet the double sun,
And all the nations trembled at thy rod?
Nay, but thy glory tarried for this hour,
When pilgrims kneel before the Holy One,
The prisoned shepherd of the Church of God.
👁️ 215

Tristitiae

Tristitiae
O well for him who lives at ease
With garnered gold in wide domain,
Nor heeds the splashing of the rain,
The crashing down of forest trees.
O well for him who ne'er hath known
The travail of the hungry years,
A father grey with grief and tears,
A mother weeping all alone.
But well for him whose foot hath trod
The weary road of toil and strife,
Yet from the sorrows of his life.
Builds ladders to be nearer God.
👁️ 172

To Milton

To Milton
MILTON! I think thy spirit hath passed away
From these white cliffs, and high-embattled towers;
This gorgeous fiery-coloured world of ours
Seems fallen into ashes dull and grey,
And the age changed unto a mimic play
Wherein we waste our else too-crowded hours:
For all our pomp and pageantry and powers
We are but fit to delve the common clay,
Seeing this little isle on which we stand,
This England, this sea-lion of the sea,
By ignorant demagogues is held in fee,
Who love her not: Dear God! is this the land
Which bare a triple empire in her hand
When Cromwell spake the word Democracy!
👁️ 192

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